


call me a sinner

by ultraviolence



Series: so many constellations [1]
Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Galen is a nerd and Krennic protects him fiercely, M/M, Orson Krennic is a hot mess, Pre-Canon, Romantic Friendship, drinking bros, just bros being bros doing bro things with a lot of foreshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: "Orson Krennic," Galen Erso declared, shaking his head. "You are a mess." // 
In which drinks were consumed, sparks were ignited, and honest-to-god nighttime conversation happened. Maybe a small confession at the end. You know, just things that best friends do, in the Brentaal Futures Program. T for drinking and middle names. Set a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a long, long time before events in Catalyst and the movie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom needs more lighthearted Galen/Krennic schooldays fic, and I'm here precisely to fix that lack. We don't know that much about Krennic's childhood as opposed to Galen, just his place of birth, so I'm filling in the blanks. Title taken from [here](http://mindmagic.co.vu/post/153731351579/call-me-a-sinner-mock-me-maliciously-i-was). Series' title was taken from Paul Celan's poem with the same name. Enjoy!

The night lingers.

It was very much a living entity, at least back in his home planet, and as a small child, he used to be terrified by it. His family was poor, and they couldn’t afford to spare some credits for nighttime illumination, so his mother used to tell him stories. 

But of course, things have changed. 

In his inebriated state, Orson Krennic could barely see where he was going, but his legs and his entire body moved towards a certain destination, dimly but firmly remembered. He doesn’t know—and doesn’t care—how long he’d been walking, across the well-lit campus dormitory corridors, until he reached a familiar door. There were scribbles on it if you squint, and he remembered faintly the night when Galen had etched it. It was against the rules, obviously, but Galen Erso could care less about where he put his ideas when the itch strikes (an itch he knew well at this point, being his close friend and confidant), and Krennic could be very _encouraging_ , especially when he’s not sober. It helps, obviously, that both of them was not, at that time.

He knocked on the door, rather loudly, not bothering with using the bell or the intercom. He knows Galen was inside, and he also knew that his friend was awake, despite the lack of lights. His friend kept odd hours, and he was too well-acquainted with Erso at this point to be able to anticipate them.

“Galen,” He announced, rather obnoxiously, still rattling the door. “Open up. It’s me.”

It doesn’t take long before somebody opened the door, not bothering to turn on the lights, scowling at him from the darkness. Krennic smiled widely. It was someone he’d been looking for. 

“Orson,” His friend said, by way of greeting, blocking the way. Krennic noticed that the bags under his eyes was more prominent than usual, but pretended not to. “This isn’t one of your ‘ _come on Galen, it would be fun_ ’ ideas, is it? I’m not in a very social mood tonight.”

“You’ve _never_ been in a social mood,” He responded, by way of answering. “But you _are_ happy to see me, aren’t you?” Krennic supplemented his proclamation with his most winning smile, adding a little flourish to emphasise his point.

Galen frowned. Then scowled. But he finally moved out of the way. “You’re lucky Subra is out tonight.”

Krennic lets himself in, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness when Galen closed the door behind them. He assessed the room beyond, only partially lit: datapads and papers scattered on pretty much every available surface, shirts on the floor, empty glasses and bottles. It was Galen’s mess alright. He would have recognised it anywhere.

“I’ll invite him to Alrakis’ next party. He’d be so grateful, he’d kiss my boots.” 

From somewhere behind him, in the darkness, Krennic could swear he _heard_ Galen frown. Galen the nerd, the finer points of social interaction forever eluding him. He’d never understand exactly why giving people what they want would make them be forever indebted to you, or the price of such favours. But that was precisely what endeared Galen to him. 

Krennic flopped on the couch, maybe sitting on one or two paper notes that was in the way. They were full of Galen’s tiny, unreadable scrawl. He took one, squinted at it, and decided immediately that it was giving him a headache. 

“What are you on about, now?”

If he was sober, he’d probably point out the fact that Galen looks positively concerned of him making a nest amongst his precious datapads and notes, especially now that Krennic had put his legs up and making himself quite at home amongst his work(s) in progress. But it felt terribly nice, and his friend’s couch was warm, and it was almost like the home he never had. He smiled at Galen, in a manner that he thought was positively benevolent. Galen doesn’t look so receptive.

“It’s…nothing,” His friend finally said, grudgingly, fingers twitching. He was such a _bad_ liar, Krennic thought absently to himself. “Just some leftover from Advanced Tech class.”

Krennic bites, feigns ignorance. “Really? That horrible class? With Professor What’s-His-Name? I would have thought that you’d excel it.” 

_Someone like you_ , the implication said. He could have sworn he saw Galen Erso blush, but that might just be the low light, or the alcohol speaking. He felt a little drowsy.

“No,” A fire seemed to ignite Galen’s expression, a fierce creature surfacing from within, and for a moment, his friend was _alive_ , animated, the repressed anger bringing a particularly intense illumination to his expression that he’d never seen before. Krennic was _fascinated_. He could also make out lines of doubt—specifically, the hesitation that Galen gets whenever he was about to tell him something important. The younger man watches his friend, the naked warfare on his expression, and was disappointed when the fire finally dies down. He thought that he finally, _finally_ get to see the real Galen Erso. The one that the galaxy tries to beat to submission with their jeers and hushed whispers about “The Grange prodigy”.

The one that has fascinated him for so long.

“Professor Zosma doesn’t like my ideas,” Galen finally admitted, disappointingly subdued. “He thinks that they were implausible. He also said that I should start living on the real world, instead of chasing flights of fancy.” 

Krennic could hear the spite behind it. He adjusts himself, positions himself so he wasn’t so horizontal in the couch. He tilts his head to better able hold Galen in his gaze.

“That’s what they want _you_ to think,” He smiled again, this time sympathetically, a gesture of comradeship. Erso knew who he meant by ‘they’, both of them being, originally, citizens of the Outer Rim. “That’s what happened to all great scientists at first, Galen. You mustn’t let _them_ get to you.”

He could see, clearly, that his friend was having more inner arguments with himself, doubts that he was only privy to on moments they were drunk together, and then only rarely. Galen _always_ had some sort of an inner argument going on, with himself, whether about intellectual matters, academic matters, or even personal matters. It was rare to see him in public—or indeed anywhere at all—without his arguments. Krennic figured that his inner world was exceptionally riotous and colourful. 

“I know, Orson.” The other finally allowed, seating himself opposite Krennic. “But I’m not like you.”

Krennic squinted at him, feeling off-balanced and more than a bit surprised, but he knows that he probably shouldn’t. He should have been able to predict that this conversation is coming, at some point in their friendship. “What do you mean? You’re just—“ He laughs, not wanting the conversation to get too heavy, “— _you_ , Galen. Obviously you aren’t _me_.” 

The supposed prodigy throw a glance at him, looks down, and this time Krennic could sworn that he _blushed_. “Well, I mean…I _know_. Obviously. But,” He mumbles, still not looking at his friend, “But I’mnogoodwithsocializingandyouknowit. Not like you,” He added, suddenly became very interested in the holo-projector on their right. 

Krennic smirked. It was so like Galen to lost all sense of spacing and all manner of courage when he was speaking about something that he was uncomfortable expressing (which is pretty much everything, except for academic matters, especially kyber crystals). Galen Erso was a little like a frightened animal: he abhors attention of any kind, and he tries his very best to get people _not_ to notice him, which often had quite the opposite effect, due to his reputation, tremendous intelligence, and his looks. But mostly his intelligence. Not to mention that he was possibly blessed with the worst curse of all: he can’t help but speaking his mind. This moment was a fine textbook example. Krennic relaxed visibly in his new, makeshift nest of datapads and Galen’s notes.

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asked, looking at the ceiling. “We all had our strengths. Interacting with people wasn’t yours. So?”

True to his predictions, Galen _exploded_ to life. “So it means everything!” He suddenly shouted, and, Krennic glanced at him, balling his hand into a fist. But the display was over as soon as it started. His friend sighs, shook his head, and look away. 

“I’m sorry,” He finally said, after a certain moment of silence. “I was under a lot of pressure lately, Orson. I’ve had a long night.” He sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “Can we have this conversation later?”

_Or maybe never again_ , is what Krennic heard. He seized his chance. “Of course,” He told his friend, sympathetically. “If that’s what you want. Anything for you, Galen.”

Their gaze met—his sympathetic, Erso’s clouded with something he can’t quite determined yet—and there was a brief current igniting between them. Krennic looked away first.

“Fine,” His friend finally acceded, rising from his seat. “I’ll tell you now. I have some leftover Nabooian whiskey from last night.”

“That’s more like it,” Krennic made a noise of approval, shifting slightly and accidentally maybe knocking one or two papers out of the way. “That’s the sort of hospitality I expected from you tonight, Walton.”

“You drank too much,” His friend grumbled. “ _Callan_.”

“I told you, you should ditch Subra. We could be roommates.” He said with a sly smile, watching as his friend went away to get what he promised. The night was still young, after all, and moreso in ever-awake Coruscant.

“Then what sort of mess you’re going to get me _into_?” Galen returned from his room (that’s where he kept his best drinks), practically scowling at him in a very familiar manner. Krennic tried to disarm him with a smile, again. It felt pretty much sublime. It was very much _home_. 

“I bailed you out of messes,” He pointed out, rather lamely, helping himself to the drink once Galen finished pouring it for them.

Of course, that might not be strictly true, but to Orson Krennic, the truth is malleable.

“You started them sometimes,” Galen countered, sipping his drink with the sort of  grudging vengeance that could only belong to Galen Erso. 

Krennic grinned, raising his glass for a toast. “But you liked them. They’re _fun_.” 

The prodigy accepted his toast, but shook his head in a gesture of mock concern. “Orson Krennic,” He declared, finishing his first, “you are a mess.”

“Yours truly.” 

_Where would you be without me?_ , he secretly thought, in-between the laughter and the drinks. But also: _Where would I be without you?_

He had a sneaking feeling that their days together are numbered, but he tried to shake it off, not wanting to entertain such a ridiculous thought. After all, Orson Krennic and Galen Erso was an inseparable duo, as far as their class year (and indeed the entire faculty) was concerned. It was written in the stars.

“Galen,” He said, at long last. “I think I liked you a _lot_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, I don't have a fixed idea for the next part yet, so if anyone has any particular suggestion, just shoot. I do love Krennic, he's such a magnificent piece of trash. Sorry if I got any tech/setting details wrong, it's been a while since I wrote an SW fic. Anyway, thanks for reading, comments & suggestions are most definitely welcome! xx


End file.
